


Misfortunes Come Not Singly But In Threes

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Crying, Evil Inquisitor, Hurt With Minimal Comfort, M/M, Trigger warning: transphobia, Whump, trigger warning: rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:19:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull walks in on Trevelyan and Dorian mid coitus. It then becomes obvious that things are spiraling out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

The first time he walked in on the two of them, he misread things completely.   
  
He thought he knew the scope of things. He thought he had their measure, both individually and together. Trevelyan was repressed and kind of a fuck up: his family was strict Chantry, he’d washed out of the Templars and had spent the last few years doing whatever it was that younger sons of Marcher noblemen did when they had no real occupation. Dorian was repressed and kind of a fuck up too, though that was repression by necessity rather than nature, and he was really only fucking up by the Imperium’s standards, which weren’t exactly anything you wanted to live by anyway.   
  
They were drawn to one another, even though they disagreed- maybe especially because they disagreed. Trevelyan was loud about his appreciation for Dorian’s looks, and Dorian gave as good as he got, albeit in a much subtler way. Sparks were flying. You didn’t need two eyes to see it.  
  
You didn’t need two eyes to that they were doing something about it, either. In the Bull’s case, he didn’t even need his one. He could smell it on them, their scents mingling together, sometimes with the salt musk of a quickie held just out of sight, just as sure as he could see the swagger in Trevelyan’s step, and the way Dorian’s swipes at the boss were now done with his claws firmly sheathed.  
  
So when he walked in on the boss and found him with Dorian’s lips wrapped around his cock, he just thought he’d interrupted that. Something harmless. Something that was part of a relationship.   
  
Something consensual.   
  
Dorian’s face was burning and he wouldn’t meet the Bull’s eye, but well. He was a ‘Vint. A ‘Vint who had just been caught with his mouth on another man’s dick. And it wasn’t like no one had ever gotten flushed from giving a blowjob before.   
  
“Whoops,” he said. “Sorry Dorian, boss. Didn’t know you were occupied.”  
  
“It’s no trouble, I’m sure,” Trevelyan replied. “Dorian’s quite the show off, as I’m sure you noticed.”  
  
Dorian reared back indignantly, like a cobra preparing to spit, and the Bull took it as his sign to beat a retreat before sparks started flying in a non-metaphorical fashion.   
  
“I’ll come back later,” he said, and left.

* * *

 

It seemed, at the time, like Dorian broke it off with Trevelyan after that. The Bull felt guilty about it, because he thought he had it all figured out. Trevelyan had been as ass, but that was nothing new: he did half his talking out of his behind on a good day. Dorian probably had a panic reflex primed for being discovered, and for all that he might know that it wasn’t a danger in the South, he might still be operating with that framework in the back of his head.   
  
He hadn’t meant to trigger anything, but he had, and he had no way of putting it right. Even if he’d known what he could do, Dorian was avoiding him almost as fervently as he was avoiding Trevelyan. He spent most of his time with Sera, which wasn’t all that unusual. The two of them were thick as thieves, had been since Dorian had made that crack about opening up that arrow shop in his ass. Sera had decided that they were friends from that point on, and Dorian hadn’t stood a chance of denying her.   
  
Probably he hadn’t wanted that chance, deep down. Sera was very blunt about not being what people expected of her, and Dorian admired that in a very obvious way: she was also just about as interested in men as Dorian was in women, and not shy about it either. Dorian probably admired that too.   
  
Also, apparently they had the same sense of humor. Dorian just had learned to pass it off as something more high-brow than poop jokes.

In the end, he didn’t have to do anything. Dorian and Trevelyan hooked back up the night of the celebration marking the end of the Fifth Blight. Sera had drunk herself under the table again, so Dorian had picked her up and brought her up to her room. The Bull caught sight of him, as he kissed the pretty stableboy he’d been having a tumble with goodnight. They nodded to one another as Sera began to snore and Angus pretty much skipped down the hall. Before the Bull closed his door he caught sight of the Inquisitor’s mop of dark red curls as he ascended the staircase.   
  
He didn’t hear everything. He couldn’t, and was only paying as much as attention as he was because it was good for the Qun to know about the Inquisitor’s potential weak spots.   
  
But he still heard.   
  
“She’d be almost pretty, if you managed to do something with her hair,” Trevelyan said.   
  
“What are you- hmmrphg.” Dorian was obviously interrupted by a kiss.

The song Maryden was singing reached its chorus, and the tavern joined in, blocking out the sound of the conversation coming in from upstairs for a while.   
  
“-if you just let me have this,” Trevelyan was saying when the noise died down again. “Have you.”  
  
“I- you-” Dorian sounded overwrought.   
  
That was the last he heard from them that night. Maryden started in on the song about Andraste’s Mabari, which meant the Orlesians started booing and the Fereldans started bawling and everyone else was loudly confused.   
  
The next day, however, their scents had started to blend again. Because the Bull thought he had them all figured out, he thought that was it. They had made up, and were a couple again.   
  
And because the Bull wasn’t a complete moron, that was when he started noticing that something was wrong.


	2. Two

It was subtle at first. The swagger in Trevelyan’s step returned but whenever he and Dorian were around Dorian took his swipes with his claws extended. Trevelyan laughed it off, which didn’t sit well with the Bull- he knew the boss. The guy had never suffered an insult well in his life, let alone the sort of insults Dorian slung around.  
  
But Trevelyan laughed, and reached out and put his arm around his shoulders, kissed his cheek, held his hand. Little innocuous displays of affection that even in buttoned-down Fereldan, where the number one rule was to not set the neighborhood’s mabari barking, was smiled upon. Dorian always looked vaguely panicked, but he didn’t pull away, so the Bull blamed Tevinter.   
  
It was an uneasy blame, but it felt logical. Tevinter wasn’t big on affection, let alone public displays of it between two men. And Dorian was Dorian, the very picture of a dangerous thing, and the Bull knew without ever having to think it all the way through that he would die before he allowed anyone to leash him.   
  
And Trevelyan was the Inquisitor, hailed as the Herald of Andraste and the savior of Thedas. Sure, most of the good things people knew about him was a matter of propaganda, cooked up by Josephine and spread around through Leliana’s network of people, but that didn’t matter. He had the Mark. He was the only person who could seal the Rifts, the only person who could counter Corypheus if he opened another Breach.  
  
Dorian was fine. He had to be. Because if the Inquisitor was the sort of person who could force Dorian, who would force Dorian, then they were all very screwed.   
  
But he started seeing Dorian with bruises more and more often. They all got them, from training in Skyhold, from fighting in the field. But Dorian’s were specific: rope burn on his wrists, finger marks on his throat, bite marks on that bit of shoulder he was always flashing.   
  
He wanted to be able to rationalize it away. It could be a sex game, of a sort. Dorian would act out, be a brat, and Trevelyan would punish him for it later. He knew people who were into that. It could be done safely, satisfyingly for everyone involved. It could be what was happening here.   
  
But the Bull doubted it.   
  
“So, you and Inky the Great Arse don’t get along,” Sera said to Dorian one afternoon as they restocked at one of the Inquisition’s camps in the Graves.   
  
“We disagree on several points, yes,” Dorian hedged cautiously.   
  
“Yeah, but like,” she didn’t lower her voice so much as she hissed in the same volume she’d been speaking in before. “Is the sex really that good?”  
  
Trevelyan laughed. “The sex is very good, Sera.”  
  
Dorian smirked. It sat oddly with the pinched expression he wore between his eyes. “It’s certainly very something. After all, the title ‘great arse’ does have multiple connotations.”  
  
Sera blew a raspberry.   
  
When they went out for one last sweep of the place, Trevelyan pulled Dorian ahead with him, their heads bent low together, their bodies tense. The Bull couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t seem like a pleasant conversation.  
  
That evening, Trevelyan bashed Sera unconscious with his shield.   
  
It was an accident, he claimed. The sun was setting in his eyes and he thought she was one of the Red Templars, sneaking up on him.   
  
The Bull watched Dorian’s face in the reflection of the boss’s shield. He didn’t believe it for a second, it was obvious from the mixture of horror and guilt on his expression.   
  
Dorian stopped sniping at the boss. He stopped sniping at any of them, unless they tried talking to him first. He was downright quiet, for Dorian.   
  
The most the Bull heard out of him was overheard when he was walking back to camp after taking a piss one night.   
  
“Not here,” Dorian was hissing. “Not here, we’re out in the open, everyone will hear us-”  
  
“Then it’s a good thing you can stay quiet, isn’t it?” Trevelyan asked him.   
  
Dorian reply was a muffled sob.   
  
“I’m so glad you’ve come to see things my way,” Trevelyan replied.   
  
The Bull didn’t know what to think. He knew what he wanted to think, knew that was probably wrong, and knew that the implications of him being wrong were catastrophic. He needed proof, before he decided anything. Evidence. A confession.   
  
There was only one way to safely do that.

* * *

 

So the second time he walked in on the two of them, it was a deliberate choice on his part.  
  
“And so we meet again,” Trevelyan laughed. He didn’t stop, hips moving back and forth into Dorian from behind while Dorian clutched at the edge of the desk, his face twisted in…  
  
Pain? Pleasure? Was that misery at the continuation of abuse, or just embarrassment over getting caught fucking his boyfriend again? The Bull no longer trusted his own read of the situation enough to say what Dorian’s emotions were.   
  
Which made this one huge giant-ass mistake.  
  
“I’m beginning to think you’re looking to join in,” Trevelyan continued.   
  
Dorian made a cut-off noise, like he thought better of making it halfway through.   
  
“Nah, I was just looking for your opinion on a job for my boys,” the Bull said, laughing it off. “Maybe you should put a sock on the door or something for next time.”  
  
“Perhaps I’ll make some kind of sign,” Trevelyan mused.   
  
“Catch you later, boss,” the Bull said, and left.   
  
There was only one way to salvage this. If what he feared was happening _was_ happening, then Dorian would want a bath a soon as Trevelyan let him go. He went into the bathhouse, pulled a privacy screen around him, and settled in to wait.

It was sunset when he’d arrived. Both moons had risen and were clearly visible through the windows set high into the bathhouse’s walls before Dorian followed. Dorian took a cursory look around, his shoulders slumping with relief when he saw no one. He reached out and activated the heating ruins that ran along the lip of the nearest tub with shaking hands.   
  
“Dorian,” the Bull called.   
  
Dorian jumped, wheeling around to face him. It looked like he tried to cast, but nothing actually manifested.   
  
“Bull, what- how long have you been-”  
  
“He’s not giving you a choice, is he?” the Bull asked.   
  
“I-” Dorian began, and then faltered. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his noise. “No. No, he’s not giving me a choice, and hasn’t for some time.” He snorted. “If I ever had one, that is.”  
  
Well. No room to misread that, at least.  
  
“So. Now you know,” Dorian continued. “For whatever use the knowledge has to you. You needn’t seek my permission the next time he asks if you want to join in, if that’s what you’re after.”  
  
The Bull kind of wished he’d managed to fling that fireball instead.   
  
“I wouldn’t- Dorian, I swear I would never-”  
  
“I know,” Dorian retracted with wince. “That was- I do know that, I merely- I apologize. That was unwarranted.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“No, it’s not fine, this is the furthest thing from fine and- what is it you thought you’d accomplish by barging in here anyway?”  
  
“I thought I could help you.”  
  
“Help me!” Dorian sounded offended. “Help me to what, exactly? Bring him to justice? How would that even work, would he alternate between sitting on his throne and kneeling before it in chains?” He snorted again. “He’d only proclaim himself divinely forgiven, anyway.”  
  
“Dorian-” the Bull began, but Dorian didn’t let him finish. It was like a damn had collapsed, and the words kept pouring out.   
  
“And yes, I know that he’s not the only one here with power, but he’s the only one here whose power really matters, in the end.” Dorian waggled his hand. “We need him, the whole of Thedas, every civilization and approximation thereof needs him to survive. And in the process we’ve made him out to be this shining beacon of hope. Even if I was believed, what could anyone do that wouldn’t jeopardize the Inquisition’s work?”  
  
“You could run,” the Bull suggested. “I know people, not connected to the Qun, just people who are good at what they do. They can cover their tracks well enough to throw off even Red’s people.”  
  
For a time at least. Enough time for Dorian to be well on his way out of Fereldan, and enough time for him to pull the Spymaster aside and explain to her what was going on. She could be persuaded to look the other way, he was sure of it.

“And where would I go exactly?” Dorian asked. “Back home to my loving father and doubtlessly bereft fiancé?”  
  
“I could set you up somewhere,” the Bull said. “Somewhere up north, where you’d be warm. Antiva maybe- the University of Antiva’s always looking for a scholar to help sort through their things, check for booby traps and forgeries and crap.”  
  
“I- I can’t do that,” Dorian said, looking gutted. “He’ll hurt Sera. He’ll- it won’t be a bash with his shield next time, do you understand?” He sounded on the verge of tears. “You don’t know- the way that he speaks of her, the things that he says, I can’t- I can’t let that happen. This is- it would be a thousand times worse, if it were happening to Sera.”  
  
“Dorian, I can-”  
  
“Please,” Dorian said. “Please, I have to protect her, I have to-” He cut himself off, pressing his lips into the back of his hand.  
  
“It’s okay, Dorian. I understand,” the Bull said. And he did understand. It gave Dorian’s pain a point beside getting Trevelyan’s rocks off, gave it meaning, gave him something he could feel like he could control.   
  
The boss was a lot cleverer than he’d given the guy credit for.   
  
“You do?” Dorian asked.   
  
“Yeah, I get it.”  
  
“You won’t- you won’t do anything precipitous, then?” Dorian pressed.   
  
“No,” the Bull said, and he wouldn’t. It just meant that he’d have to make arrangements for both Sera and Dorian to leave, and then deal with whatever tantrum Trevelyan wanted to pitch as a result.   
  
He could handle that. He was good at getting kicked and then getting back up again.  
  
“Thank you,” Dorian said. “I- I really need a bath, if you don’t mind.” He turned away, headed for the water pump.  
  
“I’ll get it,” the Bull said, hurrying to cut him off. Dorian looked at him askance.   
  
“Let me help you with something, okay?” the Bull asked.   
  
“Very well,” Dorian said, before adding in a voice heavy with irony. “You may draw my bath water.”  
  
“Thanks,” the Bull said. “Don’t mind if I do.”


	3. Three

The Bull knew that there was very little that changed from that point on: it was just that he had a better awareness of context. They went out, fought demons and Venatori and Red Templars alike, and seal Rifts. People trusted the Inquisition, spoke about their good works, praised them and the Inquisitor most of all, who took it as his due. They returned to Skyhold, where Josephine would show the nobility around, allowing them a peek at the Inquisitor’s very busy lifestyle without ever having to have the two of them exchange words, being careful not to show any evidence of the scuffles that were going on all over Skyhold over every little disagreement.  
  
He used to find that funny, that Josephine thought so little of the Inquisitor’s ability to politick that she’d given up making him see the nobles personally. Now he was pretty sure that he could have charmed them all, at least well enough to manipulate them, but he simply didn’t care.   
  
It was an act, and they’d all fallen for it. He shouldn’t have been taken aback by how little changed.   
  
The only thing that changed, really, was Dorian, who got quieter and quieter as time wore on. He stopped sniping at people, stopped even responding to bait when one of them left it out for him. He didn’t bother with his verbal fencing with Vivienne, didn’t bother with his verbal mud wrestling with Blackwall. He even begged off of games of “your people are shite” with Sera.   
  
He probably would have blown off the Bull’s attempts to flirt with him, if he’d tried it. Trying it seemed like a bad idea. He didn’t bother.

Instead, he planned. Sera and Dorian would need to leave at pretty much the same time, with the potential for a few days leeway if he could arrange for when the boss was out. That didn’t seem very likely: the boss was keeping Dorian close, these days. If he was out of Skyhold, chances were Dorian was too.   
  
So, they would have to leave together then.   
  
(Dorian stopped looking panicked whenever Trevelyan touched him, in that mock-loving way he had. Instead, he just flinched, and looked resigned and slightly ill as he let Trevelyan do what he wanted with him.)  
  
Sera was the easy part, actually. He was pretty sure that if he gave her the bare-bones account of what was happening to Dorian and asked her to take him away she’d do it. He maybe- _maybe_ \- would have to write a letter for her to open once they were safely away on the other side of the Waking Sea, explain why she had to stay away. He didn’t think that would be necessary: just knowing what the Inquisitor was capable of would make her want to run.   
  
(Dorian was staring to losing his focus, a bit. The Bull would catch him just standing there, staring blankly ahead. It was getting to the point where it took a few tries before he even responded to people calling his name. The Bull worried that one day he’d just go blank, and miss the warning signs of an ambush, or a fucking bear, or anything else that was trying to kill them. He worried that this would kill him.)  
  
It was Dorian that was giving him problems. He wouldn’t go unless the Bull had something for him to do, someplace for him to be. Even then, he’d be stubborn enough to try fighting it on him, he was sure. Mentioning that Sera knew would only piss him off more, but that was okay. Dorian could be as angry with him as he pleased, so long as he was angry with him from Antiva, or Nevarra, or Rivain.   
  
The problem was, finding a place for him was more difficult than he thought it would be. Nowhere seemed to want to take a mage from Tevinter, even if he was a fully-qualified Enchanter with a background in the far reaches of thaumaturgy. Maybe if he could get Dorian on board, and have him write something for himself they’d be more receptive, but no matter how the Bull phrased it, the responses he got made it clear that the people he was in contact with considered Dorian a charity case they didn’t have resources for, not a boon to their establishment.   
  
Fuck them, the Bull would say under different circumstances. The only thing to do right now was to keep trying.   
  
(Dorian spent some more time with the Chargers, for a giving value of spending time. Mostly he just sat next to the Bull, manage a few rounds of ale and a couple of wisecracks before folding his arms on the table and falling asleep. He was spending the night at Sera’s too, sometimes: not very often, not with any pattern the Bull was able to discern, but sometimes the Bull would catch sight of him leaving there in the morning, or hear him snoring late at night when the tavern had closed down and the Bull was staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep.)  
  
He told his superiors everything, of course. He confessed, really: they weren’t going to help Dorian, but they still had to know about his misread of the Inquisitor. They had to know that he was dangerous: clever and manipulative and selfish on a level way above your average _bas_.  
  
The response was a swift _maintain your cover, your objectives remain unchanged until we say otherwise_ , instructions he remembered writing on Seheron, which meant _fuck if I know how to deal with that shit_.

It was nice to not be alone in that boat, if nothing else, he supposed.

* * *

 

It seemed like there were always at least two despair demons coming out of every Rift these days. He wasn’t sure if that was a coincidence or not: if there was something about their situation that called them through or if it was just a matter of their shitty luck.   
  
But there were always despair demons these days, and in this particular case, there were five. It was a long, exhausting fight for everyone involved: a hour of fighting and they were running out of potions and only three-fifths of the way through.   
  
The Bull was about to suggest that they retreat a bit and regroup when Dorian just stopped. He just stopped and stared blankly ahead just like he’d gotten in the habit of doing, while one of the remaining despair demons wailed and circled, clearly holding him in thrall.   
  
“Dorian!” the Bull called. Even as he did so, he realized that it was futile: the despair demon’s fugue was too strong. He lunged for him, as the despair demon wailing as its ice began to coat the ground.

In hindsight, it was kind of inevitable that they would slip and fall off the cliff. Hindsight didn’t actually hit him until after he’d hit the ground, been knocked unconscious, and come to again with a groan.   
  
“We’re in one of the abandoned houses,” Dorian said. “I levitated you in- there are some wolves around, it seemed best to take shelter. I’m sure the Inquisitor will send someone around, eventually.”  
  
The Bull grunted, trying to get a better look at the place. It was one of the less destroyed houses, two and a half wall still standing, one of which had a door. Debris had been cleared from the floor and used to shore up the sides were the walls had come down, and a sturdy-looking table was pressed against the door, keeping it shut. They were both on the floor, but the Bull was on some kind of mattress, which was damp and stunk of mold.   
  
He appreciated the thought, though.  
  
“I think I cracked a rib or five in the fall, and I definitely twisted an ankle. Your leg’s broken,” Dorian muttered. He was curled in on himself, knees tucked under his chin, his back pressed against the Bull’s side. “I don’t have any health potions left. I’m a terrible healer. I’d probably make it worse, if I tried.”  
  
“S’alright, Dorian,” Bull replied, though honestly, it hurt like hell.   
  
“No it’s not, it’s not, it- he knows,” Dorian replied.   
  
The head injury was making it hard to tell if Dorian’s words were jumbled or if he just couldn’t understand speech very well. “What?”  
  
“He knows- the Inquisitor. He knows that you know what he’s doing.”  
  
Oh.   
  
“Are you sure?” the Bull asked.   
  
“Well it’s not as though he lets me in on the inner workings of his mind,” Dorian snapped. “But, yes, I’m sure.”  
  
That was bad. That was really bad. That was so bad the Bull couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.   
  
“Are you really sure?” he asked. “That demon had you under its thrall, it-”  
  
“I’m sure,” Dorian interrupted him. “I’ve suspected that he might have caught on for- weeks. Since just before we left Skyhold. He must have known for much longer. He keeps- he keeps bringing up Antiva.”  
  
That cut through some of the fog surrounding his brain. _Shit._ Shit, no wonder he was having such trouble getting Dorian a place to go. His missives were being intercepted. He-  
  
“I’ve been trying to bring it up, but this is the first chance I’ve gotten to speak with you privately,” Dorian continued. “He’s been hovering it’s- that doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re going to have to leave.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Leave. Take your boys and whatever penalty there is for defaulting on your contract and get as far away from the Inquisition as you can,” Dorian explained. He curled in on himself more, the words muffling against his legs.   
  
“I can’t,” the Bull reminded him. “I’m here to spy on the Inquisition for the Qun, remember?”  
  
“Surely your superiors can’t expect you to put up with that,” Dorian protested. “With _him_.”  
  
“Yeah, of course they do,” the Bull said. “I mean, they sent me to Minrathous. There are a lot of people like Trevelyan in Minrathous.”

“Yes, well. That’s not untrue,” Dorian said. “Still. I don’t know what he’ll do with that information. He might try to have you killed. He might- he’s spoken of you. Not often- not as often as he speaks of Sera, and- and generally it’s rather more physically implausible, but-”  
  
“Dorian!” That was Trevelyan and he was close. Too damn close. “Bull! Is that you?”  
  
Dorian straightened immediately, squaring his shoulders. “Yes, we’re in here, Inquisitor. Just give me a moment to unbar the door.”  
  
He stood, shakily, using his staff as a crutch, and pushed the table away. The Inquisitor stepped through almost immediately, his eyes sweeping the room.   
  
“Sera! They’re over here! Dorian’s injured!” Trevelyan called.   
  
“The Bull’s hurt worse,” Dorian added, hastily.   
  
Trevelyan’s took a look at him, considering.   
  
“Hey boss,” the Bull said weakly.   
  
“Well now,” Trevelyan said. “This does present a problem. It would take three of us to lift you on a good day, and we’re not having one of those.”  
  
“I can use my magic to levitate him,” Dorian offered quickly.   
  
“Are you sure you sure you have the mana for that?” Trevelyan asked. He made a complicated hand gesture; Dorian’s hands tightened on his staff, and the Bull was suddenly in a lot more pain.  
  
“Evidentially not,” Dorian retorted.   
  
“Well, yeah, it’s obvious you haven’t healed him. Why else would you not do that?” Trevelyan asked, as though he hadn’t just smited Dorian.   
  
“That’s- what are you doing?” Dorian said.   
  
Trevelyan was walking over to the Bull, pouch in hand. He offered the Bull a vial.  
  
“Giving him a healing potion,” Trevelyan said patiently.  
  
What were the chances Trevelyan carried poison with him? Pretty good, judging from the anxious look on Dorian’s face. What were the chances he could get away with not drinking it? What were the chances that Dorian and Sera could get away with him not drinking it?  
  
That made the decision for him. He drank. It tasted overwhelmingly of elfroot, which was a fucking relief until the numbness settled into his bones and started tugging at his eyelid. It was a healing potion, but it was one of the ones that would knock you out.  
  
Sera arrived at that moment, announcing herself with an eloquent “Shite.”  
  
Yeah. The Bull couldn’t have put it better himself.   
  
“We’re going to have to leave the Bull here for now,” Trevelyan said.   
  
“What?” Sera protested. “We can’t do that with him all banged up on his back like that! He’ll get killed!”  
  
“You’re going to need to help Dorian walk, and I can’t carry the Bull on my own,” Trevelyan explained.   
  
On another day, the Bull might have agreed, maybe even suggested it himself. Days like that hadn’t come around in a while, and if Trevelyan was angling to be alone with Dorian and Sera, then he couldn’t let that happen.   
  
He also couldn’t do more than grunt and twitch.   
  
Dorian, of course, had other priorities. “I’ll be fine with my staff,” Dorian said. “Sera could stay here with the Bull, guard him while we head back to camp for reinforcements.”  
  
He needed to find the words. Convince him to let Sera and Dorian stay with him, or else send them to the camp and let Trevelyan stay with him.   
  
Sera had her own ideas. “Don’t be daft,” she said, with an apologetic look to the Bull. “A stiff breeze would blow you right over.”  
  
“I’m so glad we all agree,” Trevelyan said, and so they left.

* * *

 

There were days that the Bull was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten through if he hadn’t lived through all the days on Seheron first. 

This was definitely one of them.   
  
He didn’t fall unconscious, he didn’t think. He was fighting the pull too much, had too much adrenaline in his system, and he’d been given a dose that had obviously been created with a human in mind. With Dorian in mind. What would a man like Trevelyan do with a potion that healed and incapacitated all at once? What would he do without it? Would he reign himself in, or did he have replacements? It would be easy enough for him to get more: just tell Dorian to stay put in his tent or else, and then beg the healer back at camp for something to help ease his ‘lover’s’ pain.   
  
It took hours of drifting, weak and terrifyingly helpless, before he could move well enough to sit upright. The sun was setting before he could walk, and he only managed that because of all the anger he had to focus himself with. It was dark before he finally limped into the Inquisition’s camp.   
  
He’d thought the point of all that had been to keep him from getting up and following them. It wasn’t until one of the scouts greeted him with jubilant “Bull! You’re alive!” that he began to suspect that he wasn’t ever supposed to make it out of the ruins of that house.  
  
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” the Bull asked, returning her hug.   
  
“The Inquisitor- he said that you were dead!” she shouted into his pectorals.   
  
“Nah, I just needed a nap,” he deflected. “Everyone else okay?”  
  
“They were attacked by undead on the way back from where they thought you’d died. The elf, Sera, she took a blow to the head. The mage- the Inquisitor’s paramour- he took some injuries as well, but he wouldn’t let the healers look at him.” She pulled back, her nose wrinkled. “He was very rude to her.”  
  
“Yeah,” the Bull said, forcing a chuckle. “That sounds like Dorian.”  
  
He let the healer check him over. She had to rebreak his leg where it had started to heal crooked, which wasn’t fun, not in the least because the Inquisitor showed up halfway through the process and hovered until it was over and they’d take the leather strip he was biting down on out of his mouth.  
  
“I can’t believe you survived that,” the Inquisitor said. “I thought for sure that would finish you.”  
  
“You forget, boss,” the Bull, grimacing at the pins-and-needles sensation of bone being knitted together. “I’m built to take a lot of hits. I can take anything you’ve got for me.”  
  
Trevelyan smirked, and left him alone.

He spent the night in the healer’s tent with Sera, who had to be woken up every few hours and was not happy about it. He didn’t see Dorian again until morning, when he stumbled out of Trevelyan’s tent, rubbing at the hinge of his jaw unhappily. He stopped when he saw the Bull, relief overtaking his features for a moment before he forced them back into something more neutral.  
  
“Sera?” the Bull asked.   
  
“He knocked her unconscious again, but I was able to dissuade him from… enacting further violence on her person,” Dorian reported. That he’d deflected that violence onto himself kind of went without saying. “You?”  
  
 _I’m going to get you both away from him,_ the Bull wanted to say, but it wasn’t safe to have that conversation now. It wasn’t safe to be having this conversation, even, but there might not be a better time. “I’ll send my boys out on a job,” the Bull reported. “Krem’s always got ideas- it’ll get them out of Skyhold until I figure out what to do about the contract. The Qun didn’t want me bringing them with anyway, so that’s not a problem.”  
  
“Good,” Dorian said. “That’s good. The less- I don’t want anyone else to get caught like this.”  
  
The Bull nodded. He was going to have one hell of a fight on his hands, getting Dorian to leave with them, but if he could use Sera’s safety as leverage- convince him that the best way to keep her safe was to head out with her- then he’d probably win. And with Dorian, Sera and his boys safely away where the demon looked like demons, instead of the savior of Thedas, that would just leave him and Trevelyan.   
  
It was the best solution. Dorian and Sera would get out from under Trevelyan’s thumb, his boys would never know that was a threat, the Qun would keep its inside man and Trevelyan would get his punching bag. Everybody won.   
  
Now he just had to get back to Skyhold to arrange it.


	4. Four

When he got back to Skyhold, the Qun had a message waiting for him, and an offer of alliance waiting for the Inquisition.   
  
It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. They knew what the Inquisitor was now, knew he was the worst kind of selfish bas. Why would they decide to make this completely unprecedented offer to him, now?  
  
It was a trap for Trevelyan. It had to be. They would use this as a chance to place more operatives- better, more objective operatives- under his nose. Get them in position to sink the knife into his back, as soon as it was safe to do so.   
  
That had to be what was happening. That had to be it. Now, all he had to do was make sure that his boys had a place to go, that they went somewhere he could justify sending Sera and Dorian along with them.   
  
If there was some way to justify it using the alliance with the Qun as an excuse-  
  
There was a knock on the door.   
  
“Come in,” the Bull said, hiding the orders from the Qun.  
  
Sera entered and dropped down on his bed, her expression thunderous.  
  
“You know it’s all shite, right?” she asked.   
  
“What is?” the Bull asked. For one wild moment, he thought she was talking about the Qun, but he was wrong.   
  
“This shite with His War-Arse. He’s not- you know it’s all shite, what he does to Dorian, right? You’ve got to, you’re a spy,” she begged him.   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” the Bull told her.   
  
“Then why are we sitting here, instead of doing something about it?” Sera asked, but she didn’t move.   
  
“Well, first of all, he’s the Inquisitor,” the Bull said.   
  
“So what, it’s okay to let him walk all over Dorian because he’s got some fancy title no one’s even used since the last forever?” Sera demanded.   
  
“No, of course it’s not okay,” the Bull said, almost snapping in spite of himself. “He has the Mark, which means he’s the only way we have of sealing up the Rifts, or dealing with another Breach if Corypheus opens one up.”  
  
“Coryphyshits,” Sera grumbled under her breath.   
  
“And being the Inquisitor means that he has a lot of manpower at his disposal. If Dorian tried to leave him… it could go badly. Very badly. A lot of people could get hurt, not just Dorian.”  
  
That was his big fear. That it wasn’t just that Trevelyan had picked Dorian out because he was isolated enough to be vulnerable, and close enough at hand that it didn’t seem strange, or inappropriate for them to be involved, or seem like they were. Hell, a lot of people probably thought that Dorian was taking advantage of the Inquisitor, when the truth was the other way around and a whole lot worse. He worried that Trevelyan actually obsessed over the guy, had developed an attachment to him, twisted as it might be. If that were the case, then getting Dorian away would be harder, and making sure Trevelyan focused on the Bull once he was gone would be very tricky.  
  
“Is that why he won’t run?” Sera asked.

“Did you ask him?” the Bull replied.   
  
Sera nodded. “It was like he thought I shot him. He went over all grey and gasping, and made me promise never to bring it up again. Said I should forget all about it. It- he- I’m not completely stupid, I know the Incrapsitor’s been knocking me out on purpose. He’s got to be doing it because he know I know, and I don’t care that he’s the Inquisitor, if I catch him hurting Dorian I’ll pin his dangly bits to his shit-tentious throne.”   
  
She scrubbed at her eyes angrily, and picked at the blanket on his bed.   
  
“I’m working on getting him out,” the Bull said.   
  
“Yeah?” Sera asked hopefully.   
  
“Yeah. It’s taking a lot longer than I want it to but- I’m working on it. I’m going to get him out, and when I do, I want you to go with him.”  
  
“Pssh, I’ve course I’m leaving with him,” Sera replied. “I’m only sticking around because he’s stuck here, now that Broody Beard’s done a bunk.”  
  
“Blackwall’s gone?” the Bull asked.   
  
“Yeah. He blew up at the Inquisitor after you got back, then turned tail and left without doing more than saying goodbye. You didn’t know?”  
  
“I’ve been distracted,” the Bull told her. Too damn distracted. Maybe he should head back to Par Vollen after this was done, get his head screwed back on right again.   
  
Maybe that was one of the reasons for this alliance- to give the Qun an excuse to recall him. He’d certainly fucked this up enough to warrant it.   
  
The only problem was that whoever replaced him probably wouldn’t give a shit about Dorian or Sera, or even his boys.   
  
He was running out of time. Time might have already run out.   
  
“Anyway, I told Dorian he should feel free to stop by my place whenever he needs someone,” Sera said, getting back up. “So, hopefully he’ll be around here more, instead of anywhere else where it’s easier for him to get ‘inquisited’.”  
  
“Good to know,” the Bull said. “Thank you, Sera. I’m glad he’s got someone like you watching out for him.”

* * *

 

“So, that’s your ‘Vint then, is it?” Gatt asked in an undertone, even though he was asking in Qunlat.  
  
“You’ve met Krem already,” the Bull said.   
  
“Your newer ‘Vint?” Gatt corrected himself, watching Dorian avidly.   
  
Dorian has bruises on his neck, just beginning to turn yellow-green. They’d appeared four days ago, after Trevelyan had spent to night doing something which had made him scream loudly enough to wake the camp, clearly enough that it was obvious to the Bull that he’d been gagged. He’d been walking with a noticeable limp ever since.   
  
Now he stood with forced passivity, letting Trevelyan loom over him, his finger’s carding through his hair. Trevelyan leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and for a moment the neutral expression on Dorian’s face cracked and showed such intense misery that the Bull had to turn away.   
  
“And he’s letting this happen to him to protect an elf?” Gatt continued. “No romantic attachment to her, she’s not milk-kin or his secret half sister, they only met a year ago and he just cares that much?”  
  
“Your point?”  
  
“I both cannot believe you found the one magister’s son with a redeeming quality, and also can really believe you’re the one who found him,” Gatt grumbled.   
  
Gatt didn’t like ‘Vints, and liked ‘Vint mages even less. The Bull didn't blame him, couldn’t blame him. He’d belonged to one of those ‘Vint mages, one who had no problem bringing an eight-year-old child to a war zone to ‘keep him company’. Dislike was a pretty reasonable reaction to have, all things considered.   
  
“I don’t suppose they’ve given you any indication of what their plans for the boss are?” the Bull asked Gatt.   
  
Gatt shrugged. “I barely know what I’m doing here.”  
  
He was there to make sure that the Bull made the right choice. That he chose the Qun, over his boys. That he was capable of making that choice.   
  
“Sound the retreat,” Trevelyan ordered, the expression on his face calculating.   
  
The Bull hated him for that, even as he put the horn to his lips.   
  
“You’ll be Tal-Vashoth,” Gatt warned him. “You won’t be able to come back.” _We won’t be able to help you_ , he didn’t say, but from the expression on his face, he wanted to.   
  
The Bull hated to disappoint him almost as much as he hated Trevelyan for making it easier to choose his boys. He blew the horn anyway.

* * *

 

The ride back to Skyhold was weird, unreal. Nothing especially out of the ordinary happened, but the Bull felt a bit like he was watching himself do things, rather than actually doing them.   
  
It was kind of nice, in a way the didn't involve him feeling nice at all. It gave him objectivity. He noticed the new bruises on Dorian, the growing stiffness in the way he held himself, but it didn’t touch him at all.   
  
He could see what he was doing wrong, now. He’d been too focused on Dorian and his pride and stubbornness that he’d overlooked his obvious pressure point: Sera. All he’d ever had to say was that Sera was in danger and he’d arranged for Dorian to take her out of the Inquisition, and Dorian would go.  
  
He’d send them out with the Chargers, as soon as he could. Once they were away, it would be easier to keep them out of Trevelyan’s reach, and then he could deal with the boss.   
  
But they had to return to Skyhold first. And then he had to say his last goodbye to Gatt. And then there was drinking in tavern with his boys, a celebration of being alive and a consolation for what he’d given up to keep them that way, neither of which he could feel very well.   
  
There was a man in the tavern, Ser Guarin, a Templar who had once been stationed at Kirkwall. He knew that because he’d noticed him before, looking at Dalish in a way he didn’t like at all. He wasn’t looking at Dalish now. He was staring at Krem, his eyes darting to the Bull every few seconds like he couldn't quite help himself.   
  
There had been several Templars stationed at Kirkwall who’d gone viddathari. Right at that moment, he’d lay money on Ser Guarin being one of them.   
  
The Bull extricated himself from his boys, and headed upstairs. If the Qun wanted to make a play for him, he’d rather it happen someplace a little less public.  
  
He opened the door to his room, and that was the third time he walked in on Trevelyan raping Dorian.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the transphobia: specifically, the Inquisitor misgenders Krem while threatening him. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.

“Bull!” Trevelyan said brightly. “Fancy meeting you here!”  
  
“You’re in my room,” the Bull said dully.   
  
Trevelyan made a show of looking around in surprise, pulling up on Dorian’s hair and making him choke. “So we are!” After a long, awful moment, where the Bull couldn’t even accept what was right in front of his eyes, Dorian choked again, and again, clearly struggling for breath.   
  
“Let him go,” the Bull said.   
  
“Close the door,” Trevelyan countered.   
  
The Bull stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him. Trevelyan released Dorian, who pulled away, coughing and spluttering.   
  
The Bull’s axe was right there. He could go for it, swing it, take off Trevelyan’s head with it. Hack his body into bits so small they could never be used to hurt anyone ever again. The Inquisitor wouldn’t be expecting it. The Qun could make no demand that he do otherwise. He could kill him, and then take Dorian away and-  
  
And what, exactly? Let him heal up just so he could watch the world burn? The Bull would go down in history as the worst Tal-Vashoth to ever betray the Qun, if anyone would be around to read about it later.  
  
“How are you holding up?” Trevelyan asked as Dorian’s coughing fit subsided. “Losing one’s people can’t be easy.”  
  
“Cut the crap,” the Bull replied.   
  
Trevelyan sniffed, and Dorian tensed immediately, as though he were expecting to be dealt another blow. The Inquisitor didn’t hit him, however, just stroked through his hair.   
  
“Very well,” he said. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that I noticed your attempts to whisk Dorian away from here. I presume that, as you are no longer with the Qun, you no longer have any processing facility at your disposal to take care of him?”  
  
The Bull blinked, long experience the only thing keeping him from gaping. Trevelyan couldn’t think that-  
  
But, on the other hand, if he did think that, if he thought that was why, maybe it would be easier to get Dorian and Sera out.   
  
“Sure, boss,” he said, plastering an easy smile on his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about from me there.”  
  
“Excellent,” Trevelyan said, beaming up at him. On the floor in front of him, Dorian gave no indication that he’d even heard.   
  
“Of course, it occurs to me that you might fear what Dorian could do, without all the tools of the arvaarads at your disposal. So I thought I would give you a demonstration. He’s no saarebas, but I think I’ve managed to break him in well enough.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” the Bull said, trying to sound like it was all a big joke. “You’ve demonstrated that plenty already.”  
  
“Seeing and experiencing are two different things, in my opinion,” Trevelyan replied. “So! Get up on the bed, Dorian.”

After a moment, Dorian pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the Bull’s bed. The Bull felt like he’d been hit with a druffalo.   
  
“That’s not necessary,” he said. The words came out of his mouth but they sounded far away.   
  
His axe was right there. He could use the haft, beat Trevelyan unconscious with it. Grab Dorian and Sera and his boys and run for it.   
  
“Nonsense!” Trevelyan said. “Dorian, spread your legs for him.”  
  
And the moment Trevelyan woke up, he’d set the Inquisition on them, and they’d have to outrun them, and the Venatori and the Red Templars and the Qun…  
  
They’d never make it.   
  
“Stop,” the Bull said. “Stop it, I’m not going to hurt him.”  
  
“Oh?” Trevelyan asked, still grinning, proud of himself for having called the Bull’s bluff.   
  
“Look, you want someone to push around, to hurt? I’m right here. I can take it, just stop hurting him, please.”  
  
Trevelyan’s grin had too many teeth. “Well, there’s one problem with that: I’m here to see Dorian take it. Or to see someone take it. That lieutenant of yours-”  
  
“Don’t,” the Bull growled.   
  
“She seems to want cock so badly she’s pretending to have one,” Trevelyan continued blithely.   
  
The Bull thought of Ser Guarin, and wished, suddenly, that it would turn out that he was viddathari after all. The Qun wouldn’t be petty enough to send someone after his boys: Trevelyan was.  
  
“Leave him out of this,” the Bull warned him.   
  
“Do you think a good dicking would cure her of that, or would it take several rounds?” Trevelyan mused. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I have friends, who-”  
  
“Stop it,” the Bull pleaded. “You’ve made your point, okay?”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” Trevelyan said. “Now, go join Dorian on the bed.”

The Bull looked over at Dorian, who was just laying there, staring straight up through the ceiling to where Sera’s room was. Then, almost as though he was watching someone else, he walked over to him.   
  
It wasn’t like it had been on the way home. He’d been numb, then. He’d been numb ten minutes ago. He wished he could be numb again right now.  
  
Dorian was naked. The Bull was surprised to see that there weren’t any bruises- the ones on his neck had disappeared, been healed away. Health potion, probably. The boss was shit with potions. He was either lying to Ser Morris or that surgeon to get them, or there was someone, one of the friends he’d mentioned earlier, who was better at the alchemical stuff.   
  
“Do spare Dorian’s sensibilities and take those hideous trousers off, would you?”  
  
The Bull stepped out of his boots, his trousers, and then sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his leg brace. Dorian didn’t react as the bed dipped under the Bull’s weight, just kept staring straight ahead, his expression empty. Focusing on Sera, probably, who was not entirely oblivious to the danger, but not involved in it either, not yet. There was probably a Ser Guarin who’d called dibs on her, if he was reading this situation right.  
  
He still didn’t trust his own read on the situation, but that would be a place to start. Take out his watchdogs, and then-  
  
Later. He had to get through now first. He’d have to worry about the rest of it later.  
  
Trevelyan tossed him something- a vial of oil. The Bull grunted, and pulled himself up onto the bed, swallowing bile as he knelt between Dorian’s legs.   
  
Was he really going to go through with this? Was he really going to-  
  
Below them, the Chargers burst into song.   
  
“Don’t keep me waiting,” Trevelyan cooed.   
  
The Bull coated a finger and then, as gently as he could, pressed in.   
  
He’d thought about fucking Dorian before. He’d thought about fucking almost everyone who seemed like they might be interested in him before: thought about kneel before Ma’am while she used his horns as a footrest, thought about sparring with Cassandra until she had him flat on his back with her boot resting on his neck. He’d thought about pinning Dorian down and then pleasuring him until the only words he remembered were “Bull” and “Katoh”.   
  
He’d never imagined Dorian just laying there like a dead fish, entirely unresponsive, his feet like blocks of ice where they brushed against the Bull’s legs.   
  
He couldn’t pretend this was anything other than what it was, so he was just going to have to get through it like he got through any kind of undercover mission. This was required of him: it was like being bred. Trevelyan was like a tamassran in the corner, Dorian was like Vasaad who was-  
  
Vasaad would turn away from him in disgust, if he were still alive to do it. Any tamassran would hand him over to the vidathiss, recommend him for the qamek. And they’d be right. Here he was, a newly-made Tal-Vashoth, who’d killed a ship full of people and was now about to force himself on someone else.   
  
“Is there a problem?” Trevelyan asked.   
  
“I’m going to need more oil,” the Bull told him, which was true. The vial had had just enough to cover two fingers. “I keep some in the bedside drawer-”  
  
“I’ve given you plenty,” Trevelyan said dismissively.   
  
The Bull had been reaching over to get more, but froze. “Boss, I’m kind of a big guy. There’s going to need to be-”  
  
Trevelyan sat down by the bed, putting his hand on Dorian’s thigh. The Bull looked at it, and wanted to rip it off of Dorian, rip it off of Trevelyan right at the wrist.   
  
Dorian didn’t react, except to blink.   
  
“Dorian’s taken bigger,” Trevelyan bragged. “I’ve used my whole hand with that amount of oil.” A faint frown appeared between Dorian’s eyebrows. “I’ve used wine bottles.” Dorian flinched. “You should be fine.”

“I can’t-” the Bull began, turning back to Dorian. The room spun, his vision going blurry. Somehow a droplet of water landed on Dorian’s chest.   
  
Dorian blinked again, his gaze refocusing itself on the Bull’s face. “Oh, Bull,” he said softly, horrified.   
  
“Are you crying?” Trevelyan demanded, delighted. He reached for the Bull’s face. The Bull turned away on instinct, and then forced himself to stay still as the Inquisitor removed his eyepatch. “You are! Oh, I can hardly ever make Dorian cry anymore.”  
  
The blank expression was gone from Dorian’s face. The Bull kind of wanted it back, so he could pretend that Dorian wasn’t really feeling this. Control, control, if he lost what little control he had now he might hurt Dorian, really hurt him, more than he had to.  
  
“Inquisitor,” Dorian began. “If I could just use my magic to-”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But it might be easier if-” Dorian’s sentence ended in a flinch as Trevelyan smited him again.   
  
“Using magic to prepare yourself is cheating, you know,” he said, socking Dorian in the stomach. The Bull pulled his fingers free as Dorian’s grunted in pain, but made no move to protect himself. The Bull held onto the blanket, and counted back from five, so he didn’t rip the Inquisitor in half. Trevelyan nodded in apparent satisfaction before turning back to the Bull. He frowned. “Though, perhaps I spoke too soon?”  
  
He reached out and laid a hand on the Bull’s flaccid cock. His hand seemed burningly hot after the chill of Dorian’s body where it brushed against the Bull’s; it was probably the least sexy way he’d ever been touched.   
  
“What’s your problem, exactly?” he asked. “Are you afraid I ruined him for you?”  
  
“I’ll suck you off,” the Bull blurted out. “You can use my horns to steer, it’ll be the best damn blowjob of your life. Just please don’t make me do this. Please.”  
  
“You know what? A blowjob sounds like an excellent idea!” Trevelyan didn’t even give him enough time to feel relieved before dashing his hopes, reaching out to take Dorian by the hair and thrust him face-first at the Bull.   
  
The Bull reached out to steady him automatically as Dorian shifted, pulling his legs underneath him.   
  
“Well, go on! Get to it, Dorian.”  
  
Dorian ignored him for the moment. “Bull, I’m sorry, just- please, just do as he says,” he pleaded. His eyes flicked up to where Sera’s room was. She’d probably suffer too, if he didn’t do this. “Please.”  
  
Below them, the Chargers lead the tavern through the song they’d written about Rocky’s pubes. Trevelyan gave Dorian a not-so-friendly shove, and he bent down and got to work.

The Bull closed his eye and tried to block everything else out. He succeeded well enough to get hard, and then Trevelyan had Dorian pull off and lay back down.   
  
He had to open his eye then, which meant he had to watch as Dorian tried and failed to keep the pain from his face as the Bull pushed in. He’d clearly done something to himself before being smited, something that left him more stretched and lubricated than the Bull had managed to do with the oil his fingers, but at the same time wasn’t nearly enough. The Bull tried to be as gentle as he could, and tried to bottom out before he lost his erection completely, and ended up only half-hard by the time he was fully sheathed, and flagging.   
  
“This might go better if I went on top, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, sounding strained.   
  
“Oh, by all means,” Trevelyan said.   
  
The Bull rolled them over so that he was on his back, Dorian above him, careful to keep his dick inside, pretty sure that if he pulled out now he wouldn’t be able to get it back up again.   
  
“Just close your eyes, Bull,” Dorian told him. “Just- pretend you’re with someone else.”  
  
Dorian’s hands felt like ice where they pressed down on his torso for balance.   
  
It took what felt like a long time before the Inquisitor grew bored of watching them, an impossible amount of time smelling his arousal and listening to him moan as Dorian squelched their bodies together, and then he straddled the Bull’s chest and took him up on his offer.   
  
It was, honestly, the least terrible thing that Trevelyan had had him do.   
  
The Bull stayed as he was once he’d swallowed, his eye closed, his fingers bunched in the blankets, as Trevelyan did his trousers back up and left the room, and Dorian pulled off of his cock. He could hear Dorian over by the cistern, and then the sound of his clothes being put on.   
  
“Bull?” Dorian asked. “Are you- do you want a health potion? I have some that won’t even knock you out.”  
  
The Bull opened his eye, and looked at Dorian, who looked back, one hand in his pocket, ready and waiting.   
  
“Why? I’m not the one who-shit.” He was going to start crying again, he just knew it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, driving the tears back. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“It’s all- it’s not your fault,” Dorian said, sitting back down on the bed.   
  
“I was supposed to get you out, not make it worse,” the Bull pointed out.   
  
Dorian reached out, and grabbed the Bull’s hand by the wrist. The Bull let him pull his hand away from his face.   
  
“I don’t know about you, but I’d like a hot bath and a stiff drink,” Dorian said. “I’ve got some of the latter in my quarters. He comes there, sometimes, but I think he’s had his fill for the night. It should be safe enough.” He paused, before adding. “You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”  
  
The only thing the Bull would like to do was to stop existing, but that clearly wasn’t what Dorian needed from him at that moment.   
  
“Yeah, okay,” the Bull said, pushing himself upright. “Let me get dressed.”

* * *

 

He held it together while they were in the bathhouse, and all the way back to Dorian’s room. Dorian’s room had a cabinet in which there were several bottles of wine displayed. The ones right in front were cleaner, but he passed them by in favor of a dustier one from the back.   
  
“The ones in the front have the thickest glass,” Dorian explained. “It seems safest to keep them close at hand.”  
  
It took only a second for the Bull to connect that with Trevelyan’s earlier comment of _I’ve used wine bottles._ That was it. He cracked.   
  
At the first sob, Dorian abandoned the bottle and rushed over to him.   
  
“Don’t cry,” he said, his hands outstretched and hovering by the Bull’s horns. “Don’t cry, you lummox, you’ll only set me off, you- _vishante kaffas_.”  
  
He wrapped his arms around him, cradling the Bull’s head to his chest, pressing his face in between the Bull’s horns.   
  
“I’m sorry,” the Bull gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dorian.”  
  
“Oh, Bull,” Dorian moaned wretchedly, and then he started crying too.

They ended up on Dorian’s bed, the fire stoked and the blankets piled high. Dorian lay on top of him, his arms and legs clinging around him. It wasn’t obvious whether he was seeking support or offering it, and the thought that Dorian might feel like he needed to comfort the Bull after what he’d done was the one that made him pull himself together.   
  
“It’s not your fault,” Dorian said again.   
  
The Bull grunted, too tired to argue.   
  
“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” Dorian continued.   
  
“It’s definitely not your fault,” the Bull protested.   
  
“Oh?” Dorian said with a scoff. “I could have driven you away, that night in the bathhouse. I can be rather cruel, you know.”  
  
The Bull tentatively reached out and put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian responded by pressing his face a little more deeply into the crook of the Bull’s neck. His nose was cold, but not as cold as his hands and feet had been, in the Bull’s room. He was warming back up now.   
  
“You never fooled me with that act, you know,” the Bull said.   
  
Dorian snorted. “I thought it was a relationship, at first. Or, well. I thought it was an arrangement of mutual benefit. I convinced myself that he wasn’t the sort of man who could be capable of doing such a thing, and I kept making excuses. The first time he smited me was a full month before I tried breaking it off, you know? I told myself that he didn’t know I was being serious when I told him to stop, that he thought it was a bit of roleplay, I told myself all kinds of shit, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.”  
  
“That was the first time I walked in on you?” the Bull asked.   
  
Dorian nodded. “Specifically, the first time he talked about sharing me out, like I was some kind of- of workhorse to be rented out or some such.” He was trying hard not to say it, but the word _slave_ echoed around the room anyway. “It was more than I could justify to myself, so I broke it off, and it made no difference at all. He sucked me right back in, and now’s he’s sucked you in too and I don’t- Maker.”  
  
“That’s not your fault,” the Bull pointed out. “It’s not. Trevelyan’s a complete jackass, but he’s got good publicity, and enough charm to make people fall for it. You’re not the first, and you’re not the last, either.”  
  
For a long moment Dorian was silent. Then he cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should just agree now, not to blame ourselves for anything he makes us do. Let’s just blame him, yes?”  
  
“Absolutely yes,” the Bull agreed.   
  
Dorian raised his head suddenly, one hand coming up to cup the Bull’s face. “And Bull? The second Corypheus is dead, the second his body hits and the ground and we have the orb, the absolute second we no longer need the Inquisitor, I’m going to kill him. And then I’m going to raise up his corpse, so that you can have a turn.”  
  
The Bull found himself grinning in spite of himself. “I like the sound of that.”  
  
“Good,” Dorian said. He dropped his hand from the Bull’s face, and let his head drop back down onto the Bull’s shoulder. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I’d like to apologize to anyone who is upset about the ending. Hell, I’m upset about the ending. Just know that I will be writing a sequel with a much better ending, though it will take some time before that actually starts coming, and when it does come, it’ll be focused on Sera at least thirty percent of the time.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this. I can’t say it was fun to write, but it was cathartic, in a way. 
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62538037#t62538037


End file.
